


Everything About You is So--

by WildnessBecomesYou



Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: Descriptions of war, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurities, References to Child Abuse, here have angst that's immediately blasted apart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26881366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildnessBecomesYou/pseuds/WildnessBecomesYou
Summary: Mildred has insecurities, and you couldn't blame her for those after everything she's been through. But over time, it gets better, and Gwendolyn is there to help.
Relationships: Gwendolyn Briggs/Mildred Ratched
Comments: 22
Kudos: 138





	Everything About You is So--

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SBWomenofMarvel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SBWomenofMarvel/gifts).



> Theme requested by SBWomenofMarvel, and this time it's not just horrible angst! 
> 
> Title comes from the song "Overwhelming" by Jon Bellion. Y'all, it's just... it's so good. Go listen to it. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uOebscm4sLM&ab_channel=JonBellion-Topic)

Mildred Ratched is not smart. She is not smart, or beautiful, or capable, or enough. 

This is what her history has taught her. 

The present, though, is trying to prove that wrong. 

_God, no wonder your mother couldn’t stand you! If it weren’t for the check, I’d give you up myself— can’t even remember how to gather eggs— idiot!_

“Mildred, darling, how much do you know about shell shock?” 

Mildred looks up, blinks the early morning fog out of her brain. “I suppose it depends on the context. Why?” 

Gwendolyn wanders over to her in the kitchen, accepting the cup of coffee Mildred hands her with a soft _thank you_ and a hand on her hip. She smells faintly of the morning grass, which means she’s just finished reading the morning paper. “I read a rather interesting story on American men returning home from war. Plenty of wives who seem unsure it’s actually their husband who returned.” She takes a sip of her coffee and hums appreciatively. 

“Well, they aren’t really the same person,” Mildred returns, shuffling around the sugar and cream as she makes her own coffee. She stays within Gwendolyn’s reach, letting her hand stay attached to her. “You go off to a foreign country, even on vacation, and you come back a changed person. But we aren’t really used to this level of change.” 

“Right,” Gwendolyn nods, takes another sip of her coffee. “But the change is so extreme.”

It’s an unspoken question, and Mildred chews her lip before she answers. “I know you didn’t— well, I know you lost someone in the War. And I don’t know how much she wrote to you…” 

Gwendolyn closes her eyes. “It was always brief. I think I know more about her death than her day-to-day life.” She offers Mildred a smile. 

Mildred lifts a hand to cup her cheek while she takes her own sip of coffee. “I’m sorry.” Gwendolyn shakes her head. “It, ah, well… it was horrible, Gwendolyn. And I was only seeing the aftermath. Imagine climbing into dark spaces with people you barely know, a gun you’ve had minimal training on, covered in mud and probably all other manner of things. You can barely hear your orders over the rail of bullets. If you’re lucky, you get shot in the leg or arm and you can get it chopped off. Some— if not all— of your new friends die. If you’re not lucky, you get a bomb going off in your face and your skin burns off. Or gas enters your lungs and you learn about what it feels like to suffocate when nothing visible is stopping you. You crawl over your dead friends and pray you make it home to your sweetheart.” 

Gwendolyn shudders. Mildred takes her hand back. “And if you’re lucky, you make it back home. But the War doesn’t leave you. It’s wormed it’s way into your brain, and it will never leave you.” 

Gwendolyn takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. She leans against the counter and searches Mildred’s face. “What are we supposed to do?” 

Mildred moves to put away the sugar, the cream. She cleans out the coffee pot. She feels Gwendolyn watch her the entire time. “I’m not sure,” she starts. “We can’t bring the other thems back.” She feels stupid for a moment. _Thems._ She tries to shake it off. “We can, however, help them cope with their new realties. The memories won’t go away, so we have to work through them.” She gestures ahead of herself, like an arrow being loosed from a bow. “Change how we react to them. Emphasize that they’re memories, not current reality.” 

Gwendolyn is staring at her. Her eyes are wide, lips slightly parted. Mildred winces. “Sorry.” 

“Wha— no, God, Mildred, you’re so _smart,_ ” she breathes. 

Mildred blinks in surprise. “Sorry?”

Gwendolyn sets down her coffee cup, coming towards Mildred with her arms outstretched. Mildred steps into them readily. She lets Gwendolyn take her coffee cup, too, set it on the counter. 

Gwendolyn presses a kiss to the spot where her neck and jaw meet, right at the hinge. “You’re so smart,” she breathes, rests her head against Mildred’s. “I can’t believe I’m so lucky.” 

_No one will ever want you. How could they? Ugly thing, you are. Get out of my sight._

She’s nervous, the first time they come home from a date. She knows how to dress for a dinner and nightcap, knows how to swipe on lipstick and eyeliner and pat down her foundation. She knows how to disguise her flaws.

But, as she stares at herself in the mirror in Gwendolyn’s bathroom— their bathroom, now that she’s checked out of the motel and unpacked her suitcases— she’s unsure. Perhaps she should put the makeup back on. Perhaps her nightgown is too much. Or maybe too little. Is she being conservative enough? Is there enough shoulder to be flirty? Is her hair smoothed down enough? 

She presses her fingers to her cheeks. Her cheekbones are too high, jaw too long. Her face is too long, eyes too big, hair pin-straight unless she moulds it otherwise. Her eyebrows are too thick. 

She hears Gwendolyn’s shuffling stop and her breath freezes in her chest. She’s got to go out eventually, but she doesn’t want to face the rejection. 

Maybe she should just put the makeup back on. 

She hears the bed creak slightly and a long, satisfied sigh. She bites her lip. Now or never. 

She opens the door and leans against it, one arm across her chest, holding the other. She’s still chewing on her bottom lip slightly. She stares at the floor, trying to get the courage to move. 

She hears a sharp inhale and squeezes her eyes shut for a moment. “Jesus,” she hears, and her head snaps back up. 

Gwendolyn’s eyes are wide, her mouth slightly parted. Her eyes look darker than usual. Mildred isn’t quite sure what that means, still, but she knows she’s seen this look before. 

“God,” Gwendolyn breathes, her hands tight in the blankets she has over her, “you are so _beautiful_.” 

Mildred blinks in surprise. “What?” 

“You’re stunning,” Gwendolyn rasps. Mildred thinks she recognizes that look now, and it makes her heart jump a bit. 

“I’m not,” she mutters, swallows uncomfortably. 

“Yes you are,” Gwendolyn insists. “Come here and let me show you.” 

And Mildred does. She comes closer, climbs into bed with her love, and Gwendolyn pulls her close. She presses a kiss to Mildred’s knuckles, her hand, the inside of her elbow, her shoulder. She traces her lips over Mildred’s neck and jaw, then peppers kisses down from the height of her cheekbones to the apple of her cheek. 

Mildred finds it a bit hard to breathe. 

Gwendolyn holds her face gently, like she’s something special, and as Gwendolyn kisses her sweetly, she starts to believe it. 

_You can’t do anything right! Can’t cook, can’t clean— hardly worth the paycheck. Not even good for entertainment!_

Mildred’s hands are shaking as she cleans up the broken glass. She’d tripped over nothing, tired after a day of chasing several patients down the hallways. Too many runners today. 

The glass of water she’d poured had gone flying, bouncing off the kitchen wall and shattering against the floor. 

She can’t believe she’d been so clumsy, so incapable of even walking to the living room to have a glass of water. 

“Mildred?” Gwendolyn rounds the corner, alarmed. She spots the broken glass and gasps. “Sweetheart, what happened?” 

“I tripped,” Mildred grumbles, half-cursing at herself. “I tripped over nothing, I’m fine.” 

“Obviously you’re not fine,” Gwendolyn argues. “Be careful, the—“ 

Mildred swats her hand away. “It’s fine!” She can’t explain why she feels so angry. “It’s fine, let me do this!” 

Gwendolyn sighs, standing above her, hands on her hips for a few moments. Mildred sweeps the glass into a pile on the floor, reaches for the trashcan. 

She feels hands around her head and freezes. But it’s Gwendolyn, who bends down and presses a firm kiss to the top of her head. “I know you can do this yourself,” the older woman murmurs. “I just worry about how tired you are. And I can help.” 

Mildred sighs, scooping the broken pieces into a cloth and shaking the cloth into the can. “I am very tired,” she admits.

Gwendolyn backs off, lets Mildred finish setting things back to the normal in the kitchen. When Mildred finishes, Gwendolyn fills her another glass of water, wraps an arm around the younger woman and leads her out of the kitchen with a kiss to the temple. 

“I’m sorry I broke your glass,” Mildred mutters, taking a sip from the new glass. 

Gwendolyn smiles. “Nothing to worry about. Just a glass." 

_You’ll never be enough. Not ever._

They’re driving down the interstate, and Gwendolyn’s got her window open to breathe in the sea, but she’s staring at Mildred. Her head scarf has come ever so slightly untucked and is rippling in the breeze. 

Mildred glances over and meets her eyes, notices the scarf. As the road straightens out, she reaches over, tucks the scarf back in. 

“Thank you,” Gwendolyn breathes. 

Mildred’s eyes have returned to the road, but she smiles softly. “Of course.” 

They’ve been driving for just under four hours at this point, suitcases packed snug in the trunk of Gwendolyn’s car. Mildred hadn’t minded selling her own car; it gave them an extra bit of cash, and she gets to let go of the trauma she’s carried at it’s wheel. 

Now, they have a fresh start. They have a new beginning, new doctors, a new life waiting for them in Mexico. 

Gwendolyn reaches for her hand, and Mildred takes it, squeezes gently. She can drive with one hand for now. 

They’ve been quiet for a bit. She doesn’t mind the quiet. It’s comfortable, feels peaceful, feels pensive. But Gwendolyn has been staring at her for almost a quarter hour now, and she’s starting to be concerned. 

“What’s going on over there?” she asks quietly. The radio drones on, some operatic soprano she doesn’t recognize. 

“Nothing, just… just thinking,” Gwendolyn says. But she says it like she’s on the precipice of saying something important, and Mildred isn’t good with the waiting. 

“About?”

“You.” 

Mildred glances at her again. There’s a fond look on Gwendolyn’s face, but also curiosity. “Oh?”

“Yes.” Another moment of silence passes between them. “Do you know— I would follow you to the ends of the Earth.”

Mildred chuckles, trying to brush it off. She squeezes Gwendolyn’s hand again. “Well, luckily, we just have to go to Mexico. But we’re…” she glances at the watch on Gwendolyn’s wrist. “Twenty hours? Or so, of driving, so it may feel like the end of the world by the time we get there.” 

Gwendolyn huffs a little laugh, the corners of her eyes crinkling. Her free hand fiddles with the map on her lap. “I’m serious, Mildred,” she murmurs, worrying the map’s paper between her thumb and forefinger. “I love you, you know that?” 

“You say that often,” Mildred replies. She’s trying to be playful, but another glance at Gwendolyn tells her the older woman is feeling much too vulnerable for jokes. “No, Gwendolyn, I know. I do.” She raises their hands to her lips, presses a kiss to the back of her hand. “I love you too. Very much so.” 

Gwendolyn seems to sigh in relief. It baffles Mildred for a moment. She should be the one afraid that Gwendolyn will leave. She loves Gwendolyn, she really, truly does, and she can’t stand the thought of her leaving. 

She supposes it hasn’t occurred to her that Gwendolyn could feel the same way. 

And exit appears ahead, and she notes the number down. Exit 92— she takes it, drives a little off the way until it seems like there’s enough forest cover to disguise two women in a car. 

“Mildred?” 

She puts the car in park, turns to Gwendolyn. She takes Gwendolyn’s face in her hands, smiles gently at her. “Gwendolyn Briggs, I love you.” 

Gwendolyn grins at her, and it’s like the warm sun shining on her. She leans forward for a kiss and she’s granted one; Gwendolyn wraps her arms around Mildred’s waist, thumbs sweeping little arcs against her back in slow, smooth motions. Neither of them can hide their smiles in the kiss. It’s sweet, and warm, and despite only being as far as Santa Barbara, it feels like they’ve entered a new world. 

When they part, they rest their foreheads together. Gwendolyn’s ocean-blue eyes scan over Mildred’s face like she’s memorizing her. As Mildred strokes her thumbs across Gwendolyn’s cheeks, Gwendolyn tucks her hair back behind her ears. 

“You’re everything, Mildred, absolutely everything."

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a note if you please :) And let me know if you've got your own requests!
> 
> (Today, exit 92 on US 101 will take you to a Day School. But who knows what was there in the 40s!)


End file.
